Writers of the Apocalypse * My Music
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
dream
Two nights ago I dreamed that I was living back in my old farmhouse from Georgia. My kittens were in the backyard and animal control was trying to catch them. I did everything I could to save them but ended up waking from the dream and crying for a while.
Last night was a strange one, and all I can remember from the terrain was that there was a large playground, old houses, and a lake. Cas was there, and he chained himself to the monkey bars. He took out a bone saw and cut off his hand - I can't remember which hand - and then tried to blame the situation on me. I was having none of it though. I can't remember who I told of his behavior, but I was bound and determined to see him locked away... but in a way that he would be taken care of. I was filled with contempt at his behavior and ended up walking away. He could live or die for all I cared.
His hand disappeared on the ground and no one could find it.
There was something else about that beach I dream about; the sand and the high cliffs that people drown on when the tide rises too high and they are too stupid to leave. But it's all so vague now. Perhaps it's not important.
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